


Tricks of the Trade

by StarsAndStitches



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Halloween 13, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Don't copy to another site, Gregcroft, Halloween, Kid Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Young Greg, Young Mycroft, Young Mycroft Holmes/Young Greg Lestrade, halloween party, parlour tricks, witchcraft - or maybe not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAndStitches/pseuds/StarsAndStitches
Summary: Accompanying his baby brother to the kids' Halloween party at the house of the mysterious and much-mistrusted Martha Hudson – that sounds like an absolute nightmare to young Mycroft Holmes. But he's never been one to shirk his fraternal duties. What he didn't bargain for was not only to meet a charming old lady but also to cross paths with a dazzling imp his own age, bewitching his mind and soul. Is it all a parlour trick? Who can tell for sure? It certainly is a treat Mycroft won't say no to.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	Tricks of the Trade

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the "A Halloween 13" calendar 2020 organised by the lovely Vulpesmellifera. Thank you so much for that, Vulpes! It's an honour to be part of this spectacular Spook-toberfest once more!
> 
> And of course many many thanks to my wonderful reliable friend [TheSoupDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoupDragon/pseuds/TheSoupDragon) for her steady support, tireless beta-ing and nudging the story in the right direction. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ You're the best!

“Mummy, please!” Sherlock pleaded insistently with his most convincing puppy-dog eyes, “all the other kids go there. And their mums are letting them. Why can't I go?”

Geneviève Holmes frowned in disapproval. “I already said no, Sherlock. And I am not discussing it any further.”

“But Mummy...” the boy wailed, sending imploring glances for help across the dinner table to Mycroft.

The young man sighed inwardly and stepped into the breach. “You might want to reconsider, _Maman_. As I understand it, it is going to be an entertaining social event for children. Nothing to worry about.”

“It's a Halloween party!” Sherlock exclaimed, outraged. “Not a 'social event',” he scoffed, mocking Mycroft's civilised speech with a contemptuous sneer. “And it's for _kids_. It's going to be so much fun. John says so!”

'Thank you very much for stabbing me in the back, brother!' Mycroft thought wryly. Sherlock clearly needed more training on negotiation tactics ...and soon.

“Typical that you take his side, Mycroft,” Geneviève remarked and resigned herself to discussing it again. “It is not the party itself I object to,” she explained with just a hint of impatience in her voice, “but the hostess. We don't know this Martha Hudson.”

“John says she's really nice. She loves kids and has been doing this party every year. For ages. _Everyone_ goes! John says even his mum went when she was a girl.”

“It might be a good opportunity to get to know other children a bit more,” Mycroft pointed out. Never in a thousand years would he have used the term 'making friends'. There was a fair chance, he mused, that Sherlock could benefit from meeting his peers outside of class.

“Still...,” their mother replied, “the stories I hear about her are … a bit unsettling.”

Sherlock tossed his napkin onto his plate. “You're so mean! You just don't want me to have any fun!” He jumped to his feet, glaring at his mother and stormed out of the dining room.

Geneviève sighed.

“Since when are you listening to unfounded rumours anyway, Mummy?” Mycroft asked pointedly. “You, a trained scientist, always so rightfully proud of your analytical mind? You're usually not prone to lending your ear to old ladies' malicious gossip and scare-mongering.”

“I'm just being cautious. Something is not right with that woman,” his mother replied. “There are strange things going on in that little house of hers. The neighbours are worried. They see and hear things that are … Take her cat, for example. A vicious tomcat, black as the devil and twice as mean. She calls him 'Mr Chatterjee'. And swears at him like a sailor. I mean, that's not what you expect from a nice harmless old lady.”

“So what do you expect to happen then?” Mycroft asked, “Some evil witch luring children into her gingerbread house? Like Hänsel and Gretel?”

“Well, if you put it that way it sounds positively ridiculous,” she admitted, “but you can't blame a mother for being concerned. You know Sherlock as well as I do, Mykie. He's so susceptible to new influences … so vulnerable. Something... or someone new fascinating him, some mystery of sorts – and he plunges into it head over heels.”

“All the more reason for him to hone his skills of character assessment,” Mycroft replied smoothly. “He won't learn anything unless you tone down your mollycoddling, Mummy.”

“Hmmm, I'd rather he wasn't going there alone,” she said. “Sherlock is so impulsive at times. Reckless even.”

“He'll not be on his own,” her son pointed out, “John Watson will be with him.”

Geneviève huffed. “John is a sweet boy and brave, no question. I like a him a lot and he seems to be a good companion to Sherlock. But he's also a little hothead. Not someone I see as a sensible supervisor.”

Well, then. Horrible as it would doubtlessly be, there really seemed to be no other way, Mycroft realised. “Would it ease your worries if I were to go with them?” he offered with his tongue in his cheek, “just to make sure that this Mrs Hudson poses no peril to Sherlock or any of the other young guests?”

The sarcasm was lost on his mother, though. Her face lightened up with relief. “Oh yes. That would be wonderful, Mykie! Great idea.”

Mycroft smiled sweetly, ignoring the loathed pet name. “So shall it be, _Maman_.” And while he was saying that, a peculiar sense of dread took hold of him. As if he were selling his soul to the devil. What had he gotten himself into? He couldn't shake the disturbing feeling that this was a fateful step. A crossroads where his entire destiny hung in the balance. Something enormous was about to happen. 'Oh bugger! What nonsense!' he chided himself resolutely, 'it is just an evening of mind-numbing merry-making. It might be tedious but it will be mercifully brief at least. And no life-altering events will come to pass.'

  
  


Sherlock, for his part, was less than pleased about the arrangement.

“What?!” he spat when Mycroft told him about it, later that evening. “I don't need a chaperone! Least of all you! I'm ten!!”

“I'm sorry, brother dear,” Mycroft replied smugly. “It's either that or no Halloween fun for you at all.” And in his mind he added, 'If I'm going to suffer, so will you.'

Sherlock harrumphed dramatically. “I don't want to be seen with you close on my heels all the time!”

“I promise to make myself as invisible as possible. Just a spectre to the feast.”

“So not at all, then! To disguise your enormous bulk is clearly an unsurmountable task.”

“Very funny, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied sarcastically, “Disguise, you say? I wasn't aware it's going to be a costume party?”

“Yeah, it is, actually!” Sherlock's volatile mood brightened at once when he remembered that. “Oh, oh, I have to think of something! Something smashing. John says, he'll be going as a bat. Or was it a vet?”

Mycroft smiled, genuinely this time. “I'm sure you'll come up with something. What do you think, brother dear, does your old pirate costume still fit?”

Sherlock beamed at him. “Yay! That's it!” And he jumped up and began digging excitedly in his wardrobe for half-forgotten treasures. “Look, my old tricorn's still here! And my eyepatch! Can I take the spying glass, too, Mykie?” A moment later he had discovered a scratched and battered wooden toy cutlass and flourished it menacingly. “Yo-ho, beware, landlubbers! The Scourge of the Seven Seas is back!”

'Scourge, indeed,' thought Mycroft and turned to leave. “Good night, Sherlock,” he said fondly as he closed his brother's bedroom door behind him. “Try not to massacre too many landlubbers just yet. You'll need some left for Halloween.”


End file.
